


pour some syrup on me

by ang3lba3, Mellomailbox



Series: Polycule? More like poly COOL [5]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM themes, Bruising, Dancing, Dating, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Love Bites, M/M, Marks, Polyamory, Queer Themes, Rough Sex, Scratching, Secret Relationship, Valentine's Day, drug mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellomailbox/pseuds/Mellomailbox
Summary: Roy wants nothing more than a romantic evening with his boyfriend, early in their relationship and on a thematically appropriate holiday. Taking Edward to an underground queer club seems likely to hide them from prying eyes or awkward acquaintances.So of course Roy's ex-girlfriend is there.A story in which: Roy clearly has a type, a romantic evening out becomes more romantic by being thoroughly ruined, and Ed realizes that he reallycanhave it all.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang, Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell- mentioned, Roy Mustang/OC- past
Series: Polycule? More like poly COOL [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578928
Comments: 20
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re taking me on a date,” Ed says flatly. He looks unimpressed, which makes sense, given that he was halfway through unbuttoning his shirt already. 

He’d stepped into the house barely thirty seconds ago, checked that the windows were covered, and immediately began undressing. Roy’s actually impressed that he remembered to check the windows this time. 

“I’m quite terrible to you, aren’t I?” Roy asks, hands covering Ed’s as he begins re-aligning the buttons into their slots. Ed’s hands are cold, from just being outside, knuckles red on the left hand and metal stinging on the right. He never wears his gloves when he’s with Roy. Roy should wonder on that. 

“Yes,” Ed says, and shimmies closer, trapping Roy’s hands in between their bodies. He rolls his hips suggestively, tucks his face into Roy’s neck. “Wanna show me how much worse you can be, Mustang?” Roy dips his head as Ed tips up his chin, satisfaction in the flutter of his eyelashes. 

“Gladly,” Roy murmurs, half-hard from Ed’s enthusiasm and use of his last name already. He presses against Ed, rewarding him for his confidence, and brushes their lips together just gently enough to tingle. Ed’s lips part on an exhale and Roy steps away, Ed’s lips following until he’s nearly overbalanced. 

“You absolute fucker,” Ed snaps, fondly. A strange combination, but one that happens often enough that Roy feels certain of his interpretation. “You’re really dragging me out on a date, aren’t you.”

Ed’s complicated lack of enthusiasm genuinely catches Roy off guard. Sure, he knows that Ed’s more of a solitary creature, a cat who only wants attention when it’s least convenient, otherwise sunning in the window and napping his days away (or reading, or studying, or eating; all things that don’t require companionship.) However, considering his wanderlust and dogged obsession with adventure, he’d been expecting curiosity if not outright anticipation. 

Roy steps back into Ed’s space, the ease of conversation directly correlating to how much they’re touching each other. He brushes Ed’s jawline with his knuckles. “I would hope it’s not dragging,” Roy says a bit despondent, aiming to guilt Ed. 

Ed squints at him, studies him. It’s impossible to know what he gets from it, what his starting assumptions are, where his conclusions would lead. “This is… important to you,” he surmises. 

It’s interesting when Ed gets it wrong. He’s such a smart, condescending twat most of the time, but it’s genuinely well deserved; his intelligence makes him near infallible in his assumptions most of the time. Roy grins. 

“Perhaps.” 

“Per _haps,”_ Ed mocks, drawling. “Hm. No. Not the date then. Is it…” he closes his eyes, seems to think. “Nope. I don’t see it. We can fuck here anywhere we want, eat anything with zero decorum, and not have to deal with small talk or like, wearing underwear.”

His eyes snap open. “Aha! It’s a small talk fetish. That’s it.”

Roy laughs. “You caught me. All these years, and the only reason I’m in the military is because it gets me titillated.” Ed’s eyes cut to him at the reference to one of their letters, acknowledging Roy without actually commenting. 

“My only other guess is that you’re worried I’ll wear you out early and you won’t be able to make the ‘most of it’, or whatever other shit old people say. Or that you think it’s important it be important to me, like, ya gotta woo me or something.” Roy’s face stays impassive. “But that’s stupid and you’re not actually as dumb as you look. Which would be more impressive if you didn’t look _really_ dumb.”

Ed’s tangents are great for many reasons, one of which is that you can physically do pretty much whatever you want because the man isn’t going to actually pay attention to you, entirely too focused on what he has to say. Catching his own train of thought is like trying to catch birds by hand. Fascinating, enlightening, often-times exhausting to witness-- but often they just shit on you, and Ed spends most of his energy trying to avoid it.

So Roy has a blazer over Ed’s shoulders and has buttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt before he’s even done talking. He adds a red rose to Ed’s breast pocket and smooths his palms down his stomach through the slightly wrinkled shirt, victim to hours on a train and a perpetual sloucher. 

“What’s the flower for,” Ed says, finally acknowledging something other than his own voice. “...we’re not going to like. Somewhere _fancy.”_ It’s impossible not to snicker a little at Ed’s disdain.

“Roy,” Ed says, a bit desperately. “Roy you can’t make me. If there’s more than one fork I will use all of them at once, so help me—”

Kissing Ed is a great way to get him to ignore his tangent-birds. It’s chaste, because to be anything but would crumble his self control, and he licks Ed’s bottom lip playfully as he pulls back. “You’ll delight me, I’m sure,” Roy tells him vaguely. It’s not an answer, or a comment on Ed’s manners. Ed’s furious. 

Roy loves him. 

“I’ll show you what fucking _delight_ looks like, you egomaniacal power hungry tyrant,” Ed mutters, but follows Roy out the door. He’s even smoothing out his hair when they climb into Roy’s car, finger-combing through the tangles and switching from a ponytail to a bun. “Piece of shit, conniving, political _bastard.”_

“That’s for your shirt,” Roy says mildly as Ed sticks the rose in his bun. “And it’s Brigadier-General Bastard, thank you.” 

“What, they won’t let me in if it’s in the wrong place?” Ed says. “Chill the fuck out, Colonel Cocksucker.”

“It seems as if _someone_ needs to take lessons from Fullmetal Goodboy,” Roy chides. Ed visibly twitches at Roy’s nickname for Den. 

“If he can teach me how to give myself a blowjob then you become superfluous,” Ed points out, shuffling deeper into his seat sullenly.

They pull into the road and Roy rolls his eyes without looking away from traffic. “Don’t be silly, Edward. We both know that you’re flexible enough for that as you are.” 

“My focus is shit, I need tips on unhinging my jaw like a disgusting nightmare monster. So I can really lick it good, instead of worrying about biting down accidentally. Why do you think I never try and 69 with you? One way ticket to an automail penis, and trust me, they are _not_ as advanced as you’d think,” Ed says.

“Oh, my,” Roy grimaces, swatting at Ed without looking away from the road, “Please, stop. No, this is all-- your words are very bad. Extremely disconcerting.” Ed snaps his teeth at Roy’s hand in warning, grinning triumphantly in Roy’s periphery. 

He’s not going to think about how apparently Ed has on more than one occasion _actually_ been able to give himself a blowjob. That’s— well now he’s also just thinking about how Ed implied he bites down, and he knows from experience that’s true when Ed passes a certain point. Oh, no. Oh _no._

“You’re totally thinking about it,” Ed says smugly. 

“Dear lord,” Roy announces, “we’re going on a date.” 

“Sounds like a personal problem. I was very clearly undateable from the start. Romancing me is a fool’s game, and I tried to warn you not to play,” his voice is still light enough, but he turns to look out the window, away from Roy. It’s a bit swift to be casual. Something he’d not wanted to reveal, then.

Roy licks his lips. Ed may be able to distress Roy through sheer absurdity and weirdness, but Roy’s not coming to this fight-- er, relationship-- empty handed. 

“Romancing you is the most enjoyable aspect of my life,” Roy admits honestly. “You’re adorable. Easily flustered, absolutely gorgeous when you blush. I don’t have to do hardly anything to show my affection to you and you pick up on it. It’s _easy,_ easy enough that I’ve been a bit inattentive with you, if I’m being honest. I want to show you how much I care for you outside of letters and frankly magnificent sex. You’re worth it, I’ve just been. Hm.” 

Roy glances at Ed where he’s glaring stubbornly out the window, working his jaw. His ears are bright red. Roy grins in satisfaction. 

“I’ve been lazy. I want to woo you. I like the way this deck’s been stacked, you know. It’s entirely in my favor. No way to lose, when I adore every moment we spend together.” He pulls up to a nondescript building in downtown Central no more than a few blocks away from Madame’s bar, not that Ed would know. 

“So what you’re saying is that you’ve become so accustomed to my natural slut charms that you realized you gotta lock it down fast,” Ed says. His voice squeaks halfway through, right on the ‘charms’, and he coughs to hide it. 

Roy puts the car in park, turns so that he’s bodily facing Ed, and takes his automail hand. He brings the knuckles to his lips with a smirk. “Precisely,” he murmurs against the screws. 

“Called it,” Ed says, and a flash of vicious satisfaction crosses his face, far too serious for the moment. 

“You’ve charmed me,” Roy adds, since Ed having the last word might actually kill him. “I can’t possibly allow you to roam free with such a wonderful wit.” 

“Gonna have to let go of my hand unless you’re willing to eat it,” Ed advises, and yanks it away. Roy tries to reel it back in but Ed’s naturally slippery, easily keeping out of his grasp. “We here?” he asks, and then immediately gets out of the car.

Perhaps he’s overstepped the line of ‘teasing Ed with affection’ and ‘making Ed uncomfortable and self loathsome with affection.’ He supposes it’s bold of him to assume there’s a middle ground.

“These are just apartments,” Ed says flatly. He fidgets in his blazer, pulling at the cuffs, and Roy hands him a pair of his gloves that he’d left the last time he was over. “A threesome with your other secret lover? So soon?”

“You know Riza doesn’t live in this district,” Roy jokes. It falls too flat, a cymbal clattering off of it’s pole. Riza’s not the secret, after all. She’s his fiance. Ed focuses on pulling each of his fingers through his gloves so that the automail joints don’t catch and stain the fabric with oil.

“The club is… discreet.” He shouldn’t laugh at his own joke, he really shouldn’t. 

Ed’s eyes cut to Roy’s face, then to the set of his shoulders, his stance. “It’s a queer club?”

Well. He did say that Edward often drew the _correct_ conclusion from little evidence. 

“Mm. Called _Prudens,_ though you won’t actually see any signage.

Ed makes a face like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Prudence? Is that some kind of… reference?”

Of course Ed would make that face at a (presumably historical) reference that escapes him. “No, _Prudens, --”_

“--Oh, yeah, Latin?” Ed interrupts, getting it now that it’s tangentially related to alchemy. “Wait.” 

“Why?” Roy asks. It’s cold, and Ed’s stopped dead in front of the building, nose scrunched up as he thinks. 

“I have about five jokes about Great Aunts named Prudence and a few puns about prune juice and laxatives that I’m pretty sure would get us kicked out—”

“No,” Roy says, making an executive decision, and heading for the door.

“What, don’t you wanna hear about enemas and old ladies? Too good for puns about prurient philosophical problems posed to prudish pensioners named Prudence? I have this good one about squirrel anuses but I’d have to draw the array for it to make se—”

Roy presses the buzzer next to the heavy metal door and says without prompting, “Climbing roses.”

Ed’s face turns bright red with barely contained laughter, and Roy just _knows_ he’s thought of a new one.

The door opens to a narrow hallway. It looks like the apartment complex it is, mailboxes built into the walnut painted walls and a set of stairs leading up at an unsettlingly steep angle. Roy’s thoughts flash to Havoc and he decides to have a conversation with the proprietor about accessibility before the night is through. 

“Top floor,” Roy says, leading the way. It’s a long way. 

They reach the top floor where instead of four doors, two on each side with letters annotating which apartment is which, there’s a single door covered in giant paper mache roses. They’re huge, and Ed scoffs, clearly unimpressed. Roy hadn’t been very impressed his first time either, annoyed at his inability to determine if this was some strange art installation or a prank.

His hand disappears into the paper mache, fingers finding the hidden doorknob, and he opens it. 

Immediately smoke billows from the opening, a husky woman’s voice echoing down the hall in a Aerugonian warble, a slow-tempo song. 

“Elaborate,” Ed remarks, brow creased. It is a bit elaborate, for just a queer club. But it’s not just an underground queer club—

It’s one that a Brigadier-General can frequent with no concern for his reputation. A pit of mutually assured destruction.

“Trust me,” Roy says, and leads them in, shutting the door behind them. There’s a woman at a podium as the step in, and she brushes past them to lock the door once they’re through with a large ornate key.

“Maple will escort you to your booth, sir,” she says. He’d reserved one of the private areas in advance, and wait, had she said--

Oh, of _course._ Barely into the gate and life throws Roy a challenge. He should be used to it by now.

Ed doesn’t know what’s coming, of course, but he’s noticed Roy’s jolt of apprehension, and tenses accordingly. Roy attempts to assure him with a sickly grin. Ed does not look reassured, but there’s no time to say anything before Maple’s voice cuts through the air.

“Gentlemen,” a dark skinned woman says, approaching them with a swagger to her hips that they both clearly read as the physicality it’s meant to obscure. Her hair is white, thick locks of tight curls that fall down to her hips, interwoven with metal. She looks a bit like Izumi Curtis if you swapped hair and skin color, Roy realizes, Ed’s presence bringing the comparison to the forefront of his mind. 

“Gentle _man_ ,” she corrects herself, and throws a wink to Roy. 

“Maple,” he says. “You’ve never been so polite before. They paying you well here?”

She shifts, exposing a gun in a cheesy waist holster as she does so. Her fingers stretch to show off the silver knuckles. “I was talking to him”, she nods at Ed, black lips stretching over white, white teeth.

“I had no doubt,” Roy says dryly. He glances at Ed, and Ed is…

Vibrating out of his skin, almost. And not in a pleasant way. 

“Nice to meet you!” Ed says, and it comes out very loud, even for the club. 

“You too, sugar,” She responds in a normal volume, absolutely unfazed. 

“That’s me! Sweet as pie!” Ed yells back. His smile--can you call that a smile?--looks painful. “Sweet as syrup! Like MAPLE! HahAhA.”

Roy’s face does something complicated as Maple tips her head back and screams with laughter. Ed is matching her, _out_ matching her like it’s a competition with his loudly articulated ‘ha’s. _Ha! Ha! Ha!_ People are definitely looking. 

“Maple, _please,_ ” Roy pleads. 

“Oh, well, since you so rarely beg,” she says, eyes still gleaming with amusement. 

Someone comes in behind them and it’s enough to push them forward, following her to the private section of the venue. They pass the bar and the dance floor, people mingling about casually or wrapped in embraces. The Aerugonian singer is still going at it, deep and soulful and slow, the stage in the opposite direction from where Maple is leading them. 

Roy knows better than to ask Ed if he’s okay, but he must not be as subtle as he thinks, because Ed says entirely without prompting, “I am so fine right now. I love dates. Dating is the best. So much better than being home, who would want _that._ ” He’s not even trying to deliberately irritate Roy-- he’s, god help them, being _genuine_ in his attempt to communicate. 

Roy’s still irritated. 

He unbuttons his waistcoat as he slides into the rounded booth. The table is a perfect circle, a single rose in a glass vase in the center. Thick velvet curtains in a deep red drape around them, suspended on a rod that allows them to adjust their level of privacy, obscuring them from the rest of the club. It’s already dark enough that Roy has to squint to see Edward’s face, the bulbs all red and set low and-- well, and his eyesight already damaged, if he’s to be honest. 

Two pieces of thick cardstock sit with the day’s current date on them, indicating that the menus are probably changed daily.

Ed’s eyes widen when he sees them, and his knees drop him into the booth as if they’d been cut out from under him. “Oh. It’s. Valentine’s day. Holy shit.”

His hand reaches up hesitantly, touches the rose he’d shoved in his hair, while his eyes flick between the place cards and the rose in the center of the table. 

“You meant it,” he says, entirely nonsensically. 

Roy blinks at him, something between dread and amusement in the weight of his arms as he settles them on the back of the booth, one draped behind Ed’s shoulders comfortably.

“Did you think I was being facetious?” He asks, aware that they’re probably having unrelated conversations again. And that Maple’s openly staring at them. 

“I—” Ed starts, but then cuts himself off, looking at Maple looking at them. “Uh. Hi.”

It’s not a dismissal, designed to draw attention to her rudeness. He scooches in further and pats the seat next to him. “Did you wanna eat with us, or, like, you’re working so probably not, but maybe you get off soon or—”

She sits, elbow on the table as she settles her chin on her palm. She’s radiating amusement. Roy wants to die. Ed’s so fucking adorable and it’s nothing but trouble.

“I was just about to take my break, actually,” Maple says. “I’m sure you’ve heard _nothing_ good about me.”

Ed blinks. “I’ve actually never heard of this place at all,” he admits, obviously thinking she means the club. Roy eyes her hard but she won’t look back. _Get the hint,_ he thinks at her, finger’s twitching against the softened leather of the booth.

Maple leans in a little to look around Ed and at Roy. “This is that alchemist guy, right?” 

Oh no. Oh, _no._

“I’m not just _that_ alchemist guy,” Ed snaps, and sits up straight. Even his hair seems to puff up a bit with indignation. “I’m the _people’s_ alchemist guy.”

Her eyes leave Roy’s where he’s using them to plead with her, the best puppy impression he has at his disposal. Instead they land on Ed’s, shining with amusement. “Yeah, the people’s alchemist guy. Hey people’s alchemist guy, I got some moon sand, wanna loosen up? I remember the papers talking about property destruction way too much for this to be you at your norm.” She uncurls a finger trapped beneath her chin to point at where Ed’s shoulders are up to his ears, spine ramrod straight in a posture that Roy didn’t think he was even capable of, what with the habitual slouching. 

“He made me come out in public when I just wanted a— nevermind. Who’s your supplier? You don’t even wanna _know_ what that’s usually cut with if it’s not Pantheresse’s,” Ed asks, and, _what._

“Please don’t give my date drugs,” Roy says, because some things cannot be trusted to subtext alone.

Ed’s eyes widen in shock, and then soften just as quickly, then sharpen in irritation. “You’re not my _dad._ My dad’s _dead._ If I wanna do sketchy ass moon sand from your— from Maple, who’s gonna stop me? Huh? My _mom?_ Oh, _wait_.” 

Maple snickers into her palm as Roy splutters, pulling his arms to his sides and out of their false casual sprawl so that he can turn to Ed. “Can you not,” he tries, but Ed’s caught on to Maple’s amusement and has already traded his attention away, leaving Roy to feel vaguely uncomfortable and amused. It’s a uniquely Elric emotion. 

“It’s not Pantheress,” Maple says. 

Ed sighs, deeply. “Brand loyalty. Gets you at the worst of times… actually, I really wasn’t kidding about what they cut it with. Can I filter it for you? I really am the people’s alchemist guy. Willing to serve the people’s guys in any way they need.”

“I trust Roy,” Maple says in a nonsequitor, and he sighs, defeated, gesturing at the table as if to say ‘have it it, heathens.’ 

“Roy sold you _moon sand cut with—_ ” Ed cuts himself off, and shoves his place card at Roy, digs a pencil out of his suit pocket. “Oh. Wait. No. Sorry, this makes more sense.”

“I trust him,” she says slowly, looking at Ed, clearly teasing him for his hyperactivity, “and he trusts you, so I’m gonna let you mess with my drugs. Is what just happened. In case you missed it. With, you know. All this.” She gestures to all of him. 

“Maple,” Roy snaps, going from resigned and entertained to offended in a breath, “rudeness to my date is rudeness to me.” He catches her startled eyes, body language sharp, sitting taller in order to impose on her casual air. Ed’s already massively uncomfortable here, and the last thing that Roy wants is for him to feel like he’s being judged or mocked in a place that Roy brought him to. 

“Insult me more,” Ed says immediately, and holds out his hand for the moon dust. “C’mon, you’ve got a lot to work with, I’m really fucking out of my comfort zone right now and desperately trying not to ask awkward fucking questions about whether you two fucked or not. _Fuck,_ shit, no just, gimme your goddamn drugs so I can get the levamisole out.”

“We fucked,” Maple says, passing the metal tin to Ed. “A lot. Probably less than he fucks you, though, based on how he’s looking at you and being all protective and shit. Hey, wanna threesome?” 

“I’m gay. And married. I can give you my wife’s number but you’ll have to fight Paninya for her.” Ed says, and pries open the container. “She’s a better everything than me, anyways, if you go for blondes. Which our shithead over here apparently does, chronically. You really got to fuck more? What’s the trick? Is it boobs? Does he feel less apologetic about wanting to rail you if there’s boobs? My wife’s a surgeon, she could get me some if I really wanted them.”

Maple whistles and Roy relaxes back against the cushions. Somehow, despite the actual context of the conversation, his ex girlfriend and current-- boyfriend is too casual, partner? No, too much-- paramour are getting along. Really well. Everything about this entire scenario screams to Roy that he’d hate it. That he’d be stressed, and miserable, and uncomfortable at the very least. 

Instead he finds himself actually… enjoying the unexpected company. 

“She said I probably fuck you more,” Roy rumbles, leaning to put his mouth against the shell of Ed’s ear, letting his lips brush gently. 

“I am going to actually vomit from nerves at any moment,” Ed says, deadpan and entirely calm. “The fact that I am processing anything is a miracle. The fact that I am still talking is an unavoidable fucking curse.”

He claps once, touches the sides of the tin container. Nothing visibly happens, but his eyes glaze over a bit. 

“You don’t _want_ to turn purple and have your nose fall off, right?” he asks Maple, and then claps again, separating out a fine white powder from the fine white powder. It’s almost half the container, and he solidifies it into a clumpy mess on top of a napkin. 

“You talking is a constant delight,” Roy adds, a little distracted watching Ed to rapid and advanced chemical calculations in his head and then seamlessly applying them. 

“Please buy Pantheress. I will _get_ you a discount, if that’s what it takes.”

“Brand loyalty,” Maple sighs, lip pushed out in a pout. “What a fucking waste. Yeah, hook me up, sugar.” 

“A waste of tapeworm medicine meant for fucking livestock, god _damn_ , that stuff will make you--I wasn’t speaking in hyperbole, Maple, seriously. Next time just tell them,” Ed leans in, whispers something in her ear, then pulls away. “Okay?”

“Hm,” Roy decides, “Perhaps you shouldn’t talk anymore. We could be doing other things with your mouth, you know.” Saying it out loud, in front of others, in public sends a jolt through him, white hot. It’s why he brought them in the first place and he smiles, a little more silly than seductive.

“You getting jealous?” Ed says. Roy’s eyebrows raise. Ed turns into Maple, practically snuggles into her as he pulls out his wallet. “I really don’t do anything without my wife’s permission. She’s the best. I have pictures, see? And this is Paninya, so like, I think we can solidly say you’re her type. Her other type is dumb brats she gets to beat around.” 

Maple leans in to get a look, whistling again. “Damn. I’m a dumb brat who likes to get beat around. Hey, she in Central?” 

“Rush Valley,” Roy says, determined to participate in his own date. 

“Yeah,” Ed agrees, “but she comes by every so often to visit. She’s an automail mechanic, you mighta heard of her, Winr—”

“ _Winry Rockbell?”_

Maple jumps up, hands at the hem of her skintight black tank. Roy honestly doesn’t know where this is going until she lifts it and exposes ugly scarring over her left ribs. “She’s the one who advised my surgeon after I got stabbed! The whole third rib is artificial, I was out cold the whole time and never gotta meet her,” she rushes excitedly. 

“You got _stabbed?”_ Roy says with what he feels is an appropriate amount of alarm.

“Oh my God you gave me a five day babysitting vacation in Central, Roy’s house was _destroyed,_ Mae got sick all over his carpet and he had to replace it,” Ed says equally excitedly. 

“Maple,” Roy presses, and she lifts her top a little higher while talking to Ed and shows off her nipple piercings. Roy sees white. 

“Glad to help! I got these in Rush Valley a while back but they’re rejecting, you think your wife knows anyone who can help me out?”

“Paninya runs a piercing and tattoo store, or, well, she’s starting it up,” Ed says contemplatively. “Winry’s on for consults for difficult cases— we get a lot of those. She’s still trying to figure out all the kinks, but here, take a look. I’ve got more artificial than you, lots of people in Rush do, and our chances of rejection go up exponentially. Your piercer might not have thought to ask, internal prosthetics are fairly new.”

Ed’s unbuttoning his shirt. Holy hell, Edward is unbuttoning his shirt and Roy realizes that he hasn’t actually seen Ed in months, that Ed just got his ears pierced and the logical conclusion, the projected end, the fucking punchine is that Roy brought Ed to a high end queer club with the goal of wooing him sweetly and is instead about to lose the worst game of sexual russian roulette in the form of two sets of nipple piercings. He steadies himself on the thick oak table. A young man approaches them and Maple looks over at him and grins in recognition. 

She does not lower her shirt. 

“Marcus! These guys have been here forever, whatever they want has to be free now or it’s just bad service.” 

“Leaving them with you so long is worse service,” Marcus says. 

“She’s a delight and a treasure,” Ed says. He finally seems relaxed. Of course he does. Roy is so uncomfortable he thinks he’s going to die. _Of course_ Edward is blase. “We got matching nipple piercings to commemorate our lifelong friendship. See?”

Marcus isn’t phased, just like Maple wasn’t phased earlier when Ed started manic laughing. 

Roy is definitely phased. Roy is so phased he’s passed into overwhelmed. He closes his eyes so that he doesn’t see Ed’s nipples, shifting in his seat at his half-erection. 

“Edward,” he mutters, fingers curled over his lips where he’s leaning against the table dramatically. 

“Yeah?”

“They’ll have two of the new one,” Maple tells Marcus. Roy hasn’t even looked at the menu to know what that means. 

“This isn’t a sex club,” Roy whispers. 

“Maybe it should try harder,” Ed says obstinately. “It’s not _illegal_ to have my shirt off. You’re not my _dad—”_

“His dad’s _dead,”_ Maple says helpfully.

“What are you gonna do,” Ed continues.

“Tell his _mom?”_ Maple says.

“OH WAIT.” they say together, and then high five. Maple finally drops her shirt to do so.

Roy gives up and presses his forehead against the grain of the table, resigned in the pattern it’s going to make on his skin as he lays here for the rest of the night.

***

A few drinks and a faster tempo later he takes Ed’s hand and tugs at it. Maple left two drinks in when Roy refused to give her all the money in his wallet to make up for the tips she was missing out on while riffing with Ed. (He’s going to do it anyways, but not when she knows he’s going to do it because then she wins. He feels like he had this exact argument with Ed before. He wonders if this counts as paying someone to be Ed’s friend. Ed doesn’t have very many friends, and paying someone for company is a time honored Mustang tradition.) 

Ed had given her Winry’s number as his tip, and referenced the discount he’d given her earlier, which was somehow more valuable than its weight in gold. He argued this point successfully, and she’d kissed him goodbye, on the corner of the mouth. Roy had had another drink, to try and wash that image out of his head.

Now he’s tugging at Ed’s hand, shoulders and hips and smile looser from whatever “the new one” is. Ed probably knows it’s chemical makeup just from tasting it. Roy thinks it might be bourbon. 

“Dance with me,” he says. 

“I’ve got a lead foot,” Ed warns, but goes with him. “And I will step on you with it.”

“Promise?” Roy responds, pulling harder and catching Ed’s elbow so that he doesn’t knock them both over. 

Ed flushes, the blush of the alcohol and the warmth of the club swallowed in the way he goes red down to his collarbone. “Was Maple serious about her being--ya know. Uh.”

He’s not finishing the sentence, is staring directly over Roy’s shoulder and clearly thinking very hard. This bodes both well and badly for Roy, because it means he’s easy to move and not likely to step on him, but it also means that he’s thinking too hard about something.

“About being an ex lover?” Roy finishes for Ed, purposely choosing wording that he knows will land heavily as he pulls Ed towards the dancefloor with a hand at his hip. 

“No, you fucking idiot, I got _that_ before we even talked that much,” Ed makes a face, his nose scrunching up. “I mean about… being a bratty— and liking. Ya know.”

Roy only stumbles because he’s been drinking and Ed has a lead foot. He turns it into a turn, pulling Ed close, the hand at his hip sliding to the low dip in his spine, his other fingers laced between Ed’s and held out to the side as he begins to dance. It’s fast and informal, some sort of foxtrot and waltz abomination that became popular years ago, back when Roy frequented these establishments with Maes and Riza. 

“Yes,” he answers, tapping the side of his foot to Ed’s to remind him to keep dancing. 

Ed’s face does something complicated, and he keeps moving. “Yes and?”

“And?”

“And--that’s something people, and that _you_ in people, _that they,_ ” Ed huffs, and treads particularly and terrifyingly hard. Not on Roy’s foot, though.

“What about you and,” and it’s Roy’s turn to stammer, lips pressing in a line as jealousy pulses hot against the scarring of his hands. It’s unfair to Ed that he feels this way about Winry. They shouldn’t be talking about this. 

“We’re _fucked up,_ ” Ed hisses. “It’s why we _work._ I really meant I’m gay, probably, but we have _two kids_ for a reason _._ ”

Roy moves his hand off of Ed’s skin so that he can lead Ed in a side shimmy, spinning him after he matches him step for step, gold eyes keen as he waits for Roy to respond with accusation in his gaze. Ed’s trying to rile him up, aggressive and hot-headed as if Roy’s keeping something from him that needs to be admitted. Roy’s unsure if this is self-directed on Ed’s part, or if he truly thinks Roy’s keeping something from him. 

“So she beats you down for being a brat,” Roy clarifies, having pressed them both chest to chest, hand buried in Ed’s (now messy) bun and cheeks pressed together. He can feel heat radiating off of Ed’s skin, sweat tacky, and gives in to the temptation to taste. Ed shivers but doesn’t miss a step.

“Not,” Ed says, and he swallows. “Not exactly. More like… she tells me what to do. And I do it, cuz I like that. And so she gives me what I want. Which is what she wants. And what we want is—ya know.” 

Ed reaches a hand up to brush some loose hair from his face, but at the last second catches them, _pulls,_ drops them, taps his cheek meaningfully, and then puts his hand back on Roy’s back.

“Ya know,” he finishes. “Fucked up.”

“We saw each other for around three months,” Roy continues, the non sequitur giving Ed relief from his vulnerability, and Roy time to think, “and in that time I,” he pulls Ed’s bangs meaningfully, “more often than not.” 

Ed stumbles, and he swears under his breath, but he still doesn’t step on Roy. He’s being careful. 

“You’re not so fucked up as you think,” Roy says casually, “where’d you learn to dance? You’re really very good.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ed says. “Why are we still here? Take me _home._ ”


	2. Chapter 2

They don’t go home. Well, not right away, because between Maple and the drinks, Roy somehow forgot to feed Ed. 

Instead they’re at a hot dog cart a few blocks over in the _actual_ entertainment district of downtown Central. There are bars and clubs and restaurants lining either side of the road, and despite this they’re standing in the cold, cheap hotdogs being handed to them by a warmly dressed middle aged man. Ed shoves one in his mouth so that he can free up his hands for three more. 

“Thm rm fnn ghn hnn drunk,” Ed says. Roy watches with a morbid and terrified fascination as the hotdog disappears into his mouth. 

“Pardon?” he asks, and pays the vendor. He tucks a bill in the tip jar.

“These are so fucking good when I’m drunk,” Ed says, more clearly.

“I’ll endeavor to get you drunk more often,” Roy promises him, and it’s exactly what Ed was going for if the way he arches a brow and shoves the rest of the hot dog in his mouth is any sign. “Maybe more things will taste better when you’re drunk.” He brushes his palm against Ed’s ass casually. 

“If you want me to eat your—” Ed cuts himself off, looks at the vendor. He shifts uncomfortably, and starts to walk backwards to the car. “Thanks!” 

As with most things regarding Ed, Roy takes this in stride. “If you back away and yell polite things at him I’m sure it’ll obscure the fact that we’re on a date,” he assures Ed. 

“Well, I don’t fucking _know,_ ” Ed snaps. His shoulders hunch defensively. “You didn’t exactly give me parameters for acceptable behavior. I know I’m not… good publicity, or whatever.”

Roy’s expression goes pained and he catches Ed by his elbow. He was about to trip off of the curb, but it’s also a good excuse to pull him close for a moment. “Careful,” he murmurs, and then he’s opening the passenger door for Ed and thumbing mustard off of the corner of his mouth all at the same time. 

“I’m getting hummus and chili on your seats,” Ed says, which isn’t a declaration of current events but rather a threat. Or perhaps a warning.

Roy licks his thumb and gets behind the wheel. 

“You’re upset that we have to be discreet,” he says. He wasn’t prepared to have this conversation tonight-- not after how they left the club-- but he’s not one to shy away from it, either. Not with Ed. Not anymore. 

Ed snorts dismissively. “Not at all. I know what would fucking happen to, not just to you, but to Winry if this came out. I grew up without a dad, my kids don’t need to hear the kind of shit someone says to people with more than _one._ I’m… if anything, I’m upset because being discreet don’t come natural to me. As you may have noticed. I’m not sure what you— expect.”

“Oh,” Roy says smartly, forgetting to hide his surprise. Ed’s being mature about this, and of course he is. They’ve already discussed it at length multiple times, negotiated and renegotiated. And Edward’s an adult. He’s hot headed and impulsive and vulgar as a point, but he’s also one of the most self aware men Roy’s ever met. It’s one of the reasons he loves him so much. He really ought to give him more credit. 

“Yeah, _oh,”_ Ed says in a mocking high pitched voice. “So c’mon, give me some guidelines. Is it cuz of the district? Is he working for you? Are you just tipsy and horny?”

“A little tipsy, yes,” he admits, “But not too much to drive. And yes, it’s the district, and also because street vendors in this district are under Mad-- I mean, under my jurisdiction.” 

“So all three,” Ed summarizes, and starts devouring another hot dog. 

“Got it in three,” he agrees, and he lays his hand on Ed’s thigh. It tenses beneath him, but not in a bad way. “Do you want me to tell you ahead of time when I plan these sorts of dates from here on out? I rather thought the surprise was part of what made it fun, but I understand why you’d want to know.” 

“I don’t need…” Ed pauses, holds up a hand as he swallows his mouthful. “I don’t need a fucking itinerary, I need an etiquette manual. This isn’t the kind of thing you can afford for me to _guess_ on. I know that.”

Roy sighs, chest tightening the way it does when Ed’s said something that he disagrees with on a personal level but Roy knows he can’t fight. His self esteem is so low for someone of his social standing and brilliance. 

“Roy,” Ed says slowly. “Roy, I feel like you’re taking this too personally.”

“You got it in three,” Roy reminds him. “You’re incredibly perceptive, Ed, even in areas you think you’re out of your element. I’m not trying to mislead you or, hm. Withhold information? No, I’m not sure how to phrase it.” 

“I’m not saying that’s what you’re doing,” Ed argues. “I’m saying you’re _trusting_ me, and it’s a piss poor decision and a responsibility I can’t accept. Trust _me_ and tell me what I need to do. Okay? I care about you. I’m not gonna fuck you over because you thought I was _perceptive._ ”

“Well,” Roy says simply, the tightness causing his grip on both Ed’s thigh and the wheel to increase. “Of course I trust you. And I don’t mean to throw you into unfamiliar waters, as it were--” 

“Stop making this about me!” Ed snaps. “Oh my god! I’m just gonna eat. Fucking hell.”

“Edward, shut up. Listen to me.” He’s not irritated, voice still warm and casual, even if he’s fighting against the tightness that accompanies Ed’s self depreciation. 

Ed’s mouth is full of hotdog, but he looks like he wants to change that out of sheer spite.

“I’m trying to say that this is all very familiar to me, and the idea of breaking down what it means to be in a hidden relationship with another man in a position of power seems, how should I say. It seems unsavory, and not to mention condescending to someone of your intelligence, who I see as my equal. And I know that you’re used to identifiable variables and clear direction, but people aren’t like that. You can’t-- you can’t follow a procedure with people, and I...” 

Roy blinks, and pulls into his driveway. “I seem to have lost my point.” 

“I had a good time,” Ed says softly. He’s out of hot dogs, has been for a while. “Like… it was just… I get that you’re not used to being with someone— _don’t fucking comment on this—_ as inexperienced as me.” Roy flashes him a smirk. “But I don’t have the same social training and coding that you do. I don’t, I don’t pick up on these things easily anyways. I _studied_ people, and I wrote rules for how they work, and I understand if you can’t codify it easily. But it can be mostly codified. There’s still, I just fuck up. A lot. Even with Winry. _Especially_ with Ling. I can’t assume, just because I’ve learned how to see what’s there to assume, you know?”

Ed pauses for breath. “I’m not. Good at people. I have worked _hard_ at people. That’s different. And it’s not reliable. So sometimes I ask blunt questions. I’m… if it was too blunt… and hurt you… or offended you… I apologize. I guess.” 

Roy takes Ed’s hand and brings it to his lap, holding it between both of his as he turns his body to face him, showing attention physically and not just verbally. “You didn’t hurt me,” he assures him, “there wasn’t anything offensive about what you’re asking me, outside of how you see yourself, which is something that I struggle with outside of this conversation. I’m just trying to make sure that I show you the respect you deserve, instead of falling back into old patterns.” 

He threads their fingers together and reaches out with his other hand to brush some of Ed’s hair behind his ear. “I could write you an itinerary and give you detailed orders and expectations, but that’s not the relationship I want for us. Outside of the bedroom, perhaps,” and he winks. 

Ed turns bright red, but doesn’t address that. “I didn’t say I’d fucking _follow_ whatever rules you gave me. But I’ve been wrong footed all night, trying to figure out where the lines are. I’m not a good liar and I’m not a flirt. Uh, most of the time. It’s—you can tease to an extent, in mixed company, but I’m _obvious._ ” 

“I love you,” Roy says. “I want you to be yourself. You were wonderful tonight-- all of you, all of it. If it went differently then it wouldn’t have been you and I would have hated it. Alright?” 

“Not at all,” Ed complains, and thumps his head back against the car window. “I just wanted to _fuck._ Get your romance out of my goddamn Valentine’s day, Mustang. _”_

“I hear what you’re saying about mixed company,” Roy acknowledges, soldiering on. “But tonight we were with _our_ company. There’s a whole community in Central, love. I’d like to show you.” 

“That’s all I’m fucking— just let me _know_ , holy shit, that’s all— all we had to do was agree that you’d tell me if it was people I could be obvious around! Why are we not having sex!” Ed’s voice is strained. He won’t look away from the car ceiling. Fascinating gray lining, apparently.

“Funny,” Roy muses, “I thought that we were?” He guides Ed’s hand to his lap so that he can feel his hardness. “Unless arguing doesn’t do the same for you as it does for me?” 

_“We are in the car,”_ Edward hisses, and opens the door behind himself, just barely not spilling head first onto the sidewalk. He does a summersault, lands crouched and twitching, eyes less gold and more the yellow of a feral cat.

Roy laughs and passes him to the front door, unfazed. 

They get inside. The door shuts, and locks, and the arrays are set. Roy turns to Ed, still twitching, still feral. “I’d like to try something tonight,” he says, humor gone, voice low. It hides the way his heart is pounding, the way anticipation and anxiety spark across his knuckles and wrists. 

Ed stills, immediately, but the feral doesn’t go away. It— it morphs, into something hot, and hungry. His body slumps against the door, feet braced wide, shoulders low, head turned up and to the side. “Yeah?”

Roy steps forward, slowly. Like a predator. He lays his palm over the exposed side of Ed’s neck and squeezes, hard. He leans down until their lips are brushing. “Yeah.” 

He bites him. He’s been wanting to for longer than they’ve been official, since before they even started writing. His thing with Maple was brief and hectic and outside of all of his carefully drawn lines, his meticulously maintained boundaries. He learned a lot from her. 

He’d like to learn more with Ed. 

Ed collapses into him, grabbing at the fabric of his shirt for support, and there’s an unfortunate tearing sound as his seams are strained by the automail. “Shit, sorry,” Ed says frantically, and drops his right hand, presses it to the door behind him. “Sorry, sorry.”

Roy sucks hard on the spot he bit, just under his jaw, ignoring Ed’s apologies. He shoves him back against the door and knees between his thighs. 

“Fuck,” Ed whimpers. He’s somehow both limp and tense at the same time, frozen.

“I’d like to,” Roy purrs, licking a stripe along the side of his neck. He grabs a fistful of Ed’s hair and yanks, pulling his head back at a sharp angle, exposing more skin for him to scrape his teeth along roughly. 

“You have to tell me to stop if I go too far,” Roy manages, pulling at where his fingers are tangled in Ed’s taut hair. 

“Green fucking light Mustang,” Ed laughs breathlessly. “All systems _go,_ sir, I’m fucking great—” 

Roy shoves his knee against Ed’s erection, hard and unrelenting, pinning him. He’s not sure that he meant to, but Ed called him _Sir_ and maybe it was in jest, or on accident, but he’s pretty sure if Ed said it a few more times he’d come just from that. He can hear the scrabbling whine of metal, and vaguely registers it as Edward, clawing scratches into his door’s paint with his right hand. 

He’d called Ed perceptive earlier, and he wasn’t wrong, because Ed gasps out, “Sir, yes sir, _thank you,”_ and then laughs at himself a little, “Sir.”

“ _Wretch_ ,” Roy gasps, and pulls away, ignoring Ed’s whine and the way he reaches for him. His hand has still been devoured by the remains of Ed’s bun and he uses it to guide Ed to the formal living room, the closest room to the door. He deposits him onto the rug in front of the fireplace, breath hitching as Ed doesn’t bother to break his fall. There are loose golden strands wrapped around his fingers that didn’t follow Ed to the ground. 

“Ow,” Ed breathes, and looks orgasmically pleased about it.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Roy tell him softly. He digs a glove from his back pocket and shoves it on, all wrinkled and sideways, just enough to snap the fireplace to life. He doesn’t miss the way Ed’s pupils dilate. He wishes he had. 

“Yeah,” Ed says, and swallows, eyes trained on Roy’s gloved hand. “Yeah, okay.”

“Get on your stomach,” Roy tells him. For a half moment he’s prepared for the snark, the snap back of ‘don’t tell me what to do, asshole,’ but it’s not there. Not now, with this… _game_ they’re playing that feels like so much more than a game. It feels like living. 

“You should put me there,” Ed says, and his eyes drift from the glove, into the fire. “Pl—maybe.” 

“You sound sweet when you say please,” Roy tells him, just to see the panic and blush. He toes off his boots so that he can use the flat of his foot to kick Ed in the side, more lifting and tossing than actually kicking. It has the intended effect, as Ed goes sprawling, limbs jelly. Roy places his foot between Ed’s shoulder blades and bears down just a little. All of Ed’s breath leaves him in a low groan.

Lube. Condoms. _Now._

Wait. He palms himself for a moment to take the edge off and then lifts his foot off of Ed. “Go get the lube and condoms from the case under the couch,” he orders. It’s in the main living room, because Roy doesn’t have sex in the formal one. He’s entertained _Olivier_ here. 

Ed scrambles to his knees with a number of false starts that should be comical but are mostly flattering. He flop-crawls his way to the hidden sex-kit and is back in thirty seconds. He hits his head and elbows on everything he possibly could on the way over. Roy laughs a little, and his eyes catch Ed’s and Ed stumbles just close enough for Roy to catch him. 

He lowers them both to their knees, laughing a lot. 

“Don’t fucking laugh at me,” Ed says, and he looks vulnerable, raw. 

Roy kisses him sweetly, hand at his cheek. “Oh, love, I’m not, I promise. It’s never at you.”

“Yeah, it’s _with me,_ right,” Ed says dryly.

Roy grabs Ed’s jaw and squeezes it, forcing him to look, shaking it a little. He’s still smiling. “Can’t you make me happy, Ed? Can’t _this_ make me happy?” He digs his thumb in until he can feel Ed’s teeth pressing through his skin. 

It’s an effort to talk, held like this, and probably more than a little painful. Ed seems to open his jaw wider than he normally does, talk slower. “No. Sounds fake. I make you _miserable._ I’m just lucky you’re a glutton for punishment.”

“I’m not the glutton, here,” Roy says back, and throws Ed against the carpet with a backhand. 

Ed hits it _hard_ , and he thought he hadn’t broken his fall before. He was wrong. This is what Ed sounds like when he’s not breaking his fall, the metal colliding hard enough to scratch the wood and move the carpet. Time stops for a terrifying moment where Roy wonders if he took it too far. 

“Hhh,” Ed says, and rolls onto his back, slowly. His eyes are wide, his mouth open and taking little pants of air, slick and red. He puts a hand to his pants button, to the zipper, and then just leaves it there. He looks at Roy, a silent request for permission.

“Yes.” Roy says, more than a little breathlessly. 

Ed pops his button open and the fly down, gasping out a sigh of relief. He’s so hard that he has trouble wiggling the tight black jeans down.

Roy helps. He grabs the ends and yanks, pulling Ed with them and tossing him onto his shoulders. The pants go over his shoulder and Roy goes between his splayed legs, his own pants summarily shoved down and kicked off on the way. 

“Want you,” he gasps, nails digging into the meat of his ass. 

Ed wiggles his hips encouragingly, says, “Kay,” and “I got the lube like you said,” and “fucking like hurry up over there—” 

That gets him a slap on his nipple. “I’ll go as fast or slow as I please, you impatient monster.” 

Ed gasps, looking strangely scandalized. “That was my _nipple,_ ” he says. “I get a nipple ring, and you _slap it?”_ Roy eyes him. 

“That’s _why_ you got them,” he guesses, and when Ed goes red he does it again.

“I got them so you could put your _mouth_ on them,” Ed corrects, but he somehow manages to both flinch into and away from Roy’s hand.

Roy dips his head immediately but stops just before contact. “They’re healed?” He asks, a little late. 

“You think I’d come over here unable to fuck anything but my absolute _best?”_ Ed really does sound scandalized now. “I thought you thought I was _smart.”_

Roy laughs again and bites down on the left one. He holds on when Ed screams, and jerks away and forward and to the side, left hand coming to Roy’s hair and neck and shoulders to claw and pull. The right one is doing terrible things to his property value.

Once Ed’s calmed down he lets go slowly, licking at the nipple and tracing the metal bulb with the tip of his tongue. He tastes metal and knows it’s blood and not the jewelry. Ed’s grinding helplessly against his thigh, whimpering softly. 

“Roy,” he says, high and keening. “Roy, I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

“I think I might die,” he admits roughly, his own hips working against the crease of Ed’s hip. “Especially if you keep making those sounds.” 

“What if you just slap me and we _pretend_ we fucked like adults,” Ed says breathlessly. “I’m out of my pants. No one has to know we couldn’t wait.”

“We don’t have to wait,” Roy agrees, kissing between Ed’s pecs to his other nipple. Ed sobs a little, head falling back and body tensing in anticipation.

Ed flails out with one hand, slaps on one of Roy’s, guides it to the niche between where his stomach starts and his hip is. “There. Squeeze.”

Roy pinches, to remind Ed who gives orders. Ed makes a noise that says the lesson probably backfired. Then he squeezes, because he trusts Ed to know his own body and he wants to know what noise he’ll make next. 

It’s not a noise at all, actually. Edward falls flat on the ground, limp as a ragdoll, eyes glazed and mouth open in a soundless nothing. He’s barely even breathing, frozen again, like he was when Roy pressed him against the door. Roy lets up on the pressure, startled, and Ed comes alive in increments.

“Why stop,” he whines demandingly. 

“If you like it so much,” Roy finds himself saying. He licks his lips. They’re dry, and. They shouldn’t be. They should be wet from Ed’s mouth, from kissing Ed’s mouth. “Then beg for it.” 

Ed’s eyes narrow, and he takes his automail hand off of the floor. It makes Roy twitch back, but it’s not headed for him, he scratches at his own collarbone anxiously with it, twisting underneath Roy. He squeezes his eyes shut, clearly fighting with his desire and his pride. 

“Fucking,” he says explosively. 

“Shh,” Roy hushes, won’t make him, not on their first time. He has to work fast, he’s so close, and he rolls Ed the rest of the way onto his face and settles against his ass, hand shoving down his underwear. Ed wasn’t wearing any. Ed wasn’t wearing any _the whole time they were out._

It must be easier this way, for some reason he doesn’t have time to analyze, because Ed gasps out immediately, “Fucking please, please, let me come, please, _please.”_

Roy’s a 30 something year old man, and the sound of Ed begging beneath has him coming against his ass without the chance to stop it. He shouts, startled, and grinds against him, chasing the pleasure as it rushes him. 

Ed writhes underneath him, whining and begging and chanting, “Please, _please, please,_ I’m being _fucking good,_ please—” 

“You are,” Roy gasps, and one still gloved hand goes to Ed’s neck to grip and hold, the other to Ed’s ass. He swipes some of his own come, lube and condom still in their packaging, and shoves two fingers inside of him without preamble. 

“Fuck!” Edward shouts, bucking wildly underneath him. He doesn’t come, which is admirable, and mind boggling. What is he waiting for, permission?

Oh. Right.

“You can come,” Roy remembers to tell him, pumping his fingers fast and hard, aiming in the area that he knows feels the best. Without prep of any kind it’s hell on his wrist. 

The effect is near instantaneous, and Ed presses his face harder into the carpet, snaps his hips back into Roy’s hand so hard he hisses in pain, and then comes to a shuddering stillness.

All over the living room rug.

They could have thought that out better, which is easy to say now that he can _think_.

Roy’ keeping the rug. He’ll move it, of course-- he sees _Olivier_ in this room-- but he’s definitely keeping it. He might frame it, actually. Is that impractical?

“Edward,” he breathes, carefully removing his fingers. He goes to release Ed’s neck and his automail hand slaps up to grab his wrist, keeping it there. He shakes his head, grinding his forehead into the carpet. 

“You can lay on me,” Ed says. “Just. Stay here. Okay?”

Roy does. He drapes himself over Ed’s body, nose nestled behind his ear. He has to sweep Ed’s hair over his other shoulder so he doesn’t get it up his nose. 

Ed turns his head to the left after a long moment, and Roy lets his hand drop, but stays settled on top of him. “Fuck,” Ed breathes, with feeling. “ _Fuck.”_

“Not quite,” Roy says with a laugh. Ed laughs with him after a beat, and they lay there together, snickering.

“This was an option?” Ed gets out, sounding like he’s reaching for furious but not quite making it. “This whole time? Roy. I don’t want to disappoint you. But we’re never going on another date again. You’re keeping me home and fucking me stupid.”

“Too late,” he pokes at Ed’s temple. Ed snaps at him, and groans, and Roy shifts a little so that he’s not laying so directly on Ed’s automail port.

“But, yes. This is an option. If you’d like to seriously consider it we can start negotiations,” he offers. 

“...this sounds like something with _books,”_ Ed says. He sounds vaguely betrayed. 

“You like books,” Roy points out. 

“Yeah, and no one fucking _told me about these ones,”_ Ed says. 

“You must have the wrong friends,” Roy decides. “Riza gave me the books when we were fifteen.” He’s mostly joking, because Ed makes hilarious faces when reminded that Riza’s a person and not just a goddess with a gun for a statement.

“I need to call Winry, she’s gonna lose her _shit,”_ Ed says. “Fuck. We really. It’s a thing. Thank _fuck.”_

There’s something about the relief in Ed’s voice that has Roy sitting up. He pulls Ed with him and carefully reins in his reaction to the purple bruising forming at the corner of his mouth and his jaw. His automail left scratches over his collarbones, thin ones that have already scabbed over, but seem to have bled a bit. The bite marks are irresponsibly visible as well, three along his jaw and neck. He lifts a hand to press his thumb to Ed’s lip, right in the middle of the bruise.

Ed’s eyes go soft. He doesn’t even flinch, just lets his mouth go limp and easy to move. 

“You were worried,” Roy realizes, tracing along his bottom lip with his thumb. “You really didn’t know.”

Ed shrugs, talks around Roy’s thumb like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like it’s easier than talking without it. He’s careful with his teeth and tongue in a practiced way. “I told you so.”

He wants to say ‘I’m sorry’ but knows that it’s not correct. “I have some books, and if the two of you would like, I can also introduce you to some peers here in the city.” 

“Like Maple?” Ed asks, eyes smiling even if his lips stay slack. 

Roy finds himself grinning. “Like Maple. I’m not-- I don’t participate, not since we dated years ago, but I still know how to get around. If that’s something you’d want.” 

“I dunno. Gotta ask Winry. But I figure,” Ed says, and his brows crinkle the way they do when he’s thinking hard about something. “I figure maybe. We—she needs to talk to… this is _hard._ Fuck. I can’t think about this anymore, do you have anything sweet in the house? Soda, even?” 

“I knew you were coming,” Roy deadpans, and then, “Also, it’s Valentines day. The prophet of Love and Sweets would curse my mortal soul if I didn’t have something for you.” 

“And _Sweets_ ,” Ed says, rolling his eyes. “She was a beekeeper, you pretentious fuck. Just say honey.”

“Ok, honey,” Roy says. He pulls his thumb out, and covers Ed’s lips with his just in time to catch the insult on his tongue. He thinks it was about the way he combed his hair.

More than half the time he feels like every time he solves a piece of Ed, puzzles out a bit more of their relationship, he’s left with five more mysteries and a whole crop of ethical dilemmas. This date has been no different from any other, in that respect. 

“Up,” Roy says, lifting Ed off the ground and shuffling them to the bedroom, where Ed will meet a king-sized mattress covered in chocolates and cakes and fruit and Valentine honey treats. 

Riza had watched him laying them out with a critical eye after being kind enough to aid his shopping, and left entirely when he said putting a rubber sheet down underneath would ‘ruin the mood’. Not a romantic bone in her body, even if her dry cleaning bill is smaller.

He opens the door, Ed makes a pornographic sound, and Roy prepares for round two. 

“ _This_ was an _option_?” Ed squawks. Roy laughs at him. 

**Author's Note:**

> find ang3lba3 on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cryingiscooltm)


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